


Summer Pornathon 2013

by karuvapatta



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, M/M, Summer Pornathon 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's several entries for the Pornathon, featuring (but not limited to): a little merman on a quest to find his soul, an artist with a penchant for bondage, disturbing sexual fantasies and, above all, the healing power of love (which does not heal everything but it's the thought that counts). </p><p>Please mind the warnings for individual chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. KINK GRAB BAG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kink(s):** non-genital erogenous zones, tattoos  
>  **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
>  **Warnings:** None

Merlin was officially, as of this very moment, done.

He collapsed onto the couch of their fancy hotel room and watched, glumly, as Arthur edited and re-edited his (that is to say, Merlin's) speech for the umpteenth time. It's been several hours and he hadn't even bothered to take off his bloody _tie_.

So far Merlin had tried bribery, threats and persuasion; but nothing worked. Clearly he was left with only one choice.

He extended his leg and, with his bare toe, poked Arthur's thigh.

No reaction.

He poked again.

Several pokes later, he had Arthur's attention in the form of a distracted "hmph". A few more times, and Arthur waved his hand about, trying to swat Merlin away.

One more, and Arthur's hand closed around Merlin's foot.

"Stop being annoying," he said, absent-minded. Merlin had a sharp retort at the tip of his tongue - but he bit it back.

Arthur was - perhaps unknowingly - rubbing his thumb along the sole of Merlin's foot. The touch was slow and soothing, and it made Merlin's toes curl on their own accord.

He bit his lip. But Arthur, of course, did not stop there. His fingers, feather-light and gentle, danced over the soft pad of the foot, rubbing in tiny circles. They toyed with Merlin's toes and then crept up towards his ankle, sliding under the hem of Merlin's jeans.

Merlin stifled a gasp.

That, at least, made Arthur look up. He flashed him a quick smile, tired but warm, before something else caught his attention. 

"You have a tattoo," Arthur murmured, discovering the small black dragon encircling Merlin's ankle. "Why didn't I know?"

"You've been busy," Merlin said, praying for his voice to remain steady.

There it was, a flash of guilt in Arthur's expression. The next moment it was gone, and he was manoeuvring Merlin's leg until he had the dragon at eye level.

"It's pretty," he said, tracing the silhouette with his index finger.

And then he kissed Merlin's ankle.

Merlin could do nothing to stifle the broken half-moan that followed.

Arthur offered a self-satisfied little smirk, the one that meant he had discovered a weakness and would do everything to exploit it.

He kissed his way down, his mouth hot and insistent the way his fingers hadn't been. He licked a stripe over the pad of the toes; and then he closed his mouth around the big one and sucked.

Merlin whimpered. His cock was rigid, straining the tight fabric of his jeans, but Arthur paid it no mind, opting instead to continue fellating Merlin's toes like somebody's life depended on it.

And maybe - Merlin thought, when a particular swirl of Arthur's tongue made him throw back his head and groan - maybe it did.

He laid back, boneless, while Arthur stripped him of his jeans and T-shirt, to expose more of Merlin's skin, just waiting to be kissed and touched. He bypassed Merlin's cock in favour of mouthing at his inner thigh and then up, up his chest. By the time he reached Merlin's neck, Merlin was a hot, whimpering mess, and Arthur—

Arthur was still wearing his stupid bloody tie.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, his body pressing down on Merlin's. Merlin valiantly resisted the urge to hump Arthur's muscled thigh.

"Hardly," he lied. "I've had better..."

Arthur growled and went down on him proper, holding nothing back - intent, apparently, on ruining Merlin forever for other man.

And Merlin, fool that he was, let him.


	2. MEDIA CHALLENGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Inspired by:** [Gif #4](http://i.imgur.com/3G2rMRQ.gif)  
>  **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
>  **Warnings:** Bondage, slight D/s, orgasm denial

The model was gangly and pale, dressed in baggy jeans and an obnoxious hipster T-shirt. Arthur almost immediately regretted hiring him, but—

But.

There was something there – he had a wonderfully expressive face, open and friendly. He smiled a goofy grin when shaking Arthur’s hand, and ran his long fingers through his hair, embarrassed, when introducing himself as,

“Merlin. And please, don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Arthur said, smirking.

Merlin cast him a dark look from underneath his lashes. He bit his lip, leaving a white imprint of teeth where they used to be plump and red and kissable.

“Shall we begin?”

He was noisy. Arthur wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the constant chatter. Merlin talked about his life – a poor Med student down on his luck, needs the money, and so on – while he undressed himself. That might have been just to cover his nervousness, though.

The sight of Merlin’s naked body gave him a pause, because Merlin was _fit_. He was all long limbs and sharp angles and defined muscles, taut and visible beneath pale skin, with the occasional jutting bone to keep things interesting. There was a dusting of dark hair on his chest, travelling downwards to the base of his cock.

He was limp but holy hell, it was magnificent – long like the rest of him, wide as Arthur liked it, flushed deep red at the head. He longed—he had to get Merlin hard.

Merlin stood up tall, stark naked but oddly unselfconscious about it. He made no attempt to cover himself.

“Well?”

Arthur set to work.

He chose a silky-smooth colourless rope; closed his eyes and ran it through his fingers, familiarising himself with the texture. Merlin watched him, wary, when Arthur approached, and said,

“Kneel.”

Merlin knelt.

Arthur pressed his hand to Merlin’s should-blade and _felt_ it – velvety skin and firm muscle.

Merlin shivered slightly but didn’t move otherwise, and Arthur smiled.

“Tell me if it starts hurting,” he said. Merlin nodded.

Arthur moved his palms over Merlin’s arms and slid them downwards, until he had Merlin’s narrow, bony wrists in his grip. He guided them backwards, more and more, watching for any sign of discomfort on Merlin’s part, and exhaled, happily, when Merlin’s elbows pressed together.

“I do yoga,” Merlin said, unprompted. He gave a shaky, breathless laugh. “Never knew I would use it like that, though.”

Arthur smiled. He smoothed his thumbs over Merlin’s forearms and his lovely, lovely hands; and then took the rope and wove it around them, adding knots for decoration rather than practicality because Merlin seemed intent on sitting motionless.

He guided Merlin into spreading his knees apart and sitting down on his bare arse, his feet pressed to the either side of his buttocks. That left his balls lying on the floor and his cock, half-way interested, pointing slightly downwards. Arthur made quick work of tying his legs in this position, and then paused.

“Do you mind?” he said, hand hovering near Merlin’s cock. He looked at his face for the first time, and was slightly taken back – Merlin was flushing, his mouth open and his breathing rapid and shallow, his eyes glossy with pleasure.

“By all means,” he said in a strained voice. “Help yourself.”

Arthur took him fully in hand and stroked, feeling Merlin’s cock hardening deliciously under his touch. It was, indeed, lovely – he squeezed some lotion onto the shaft, relishing in Merlin’s sharp hiss, and moved quicker, easier now, pumping him fast-paced and restless.

“I’m going to—“ he began, but Merlin shook his head slightly, eyes pressed shut and mouth wide open.

He moaned, loudly – God, he was loud – when Arthur slipped a metal ring onto his cock, holding him erect but unable to come.

Arthur sat back and admired the view – tight rope, Merlin’s pale body and the dark, angry red of the long curve of his cock – and found his hand drifting to his own dick, painfully neglected but just as hard.

Merlin caught the movement and opened his eyes, nearly black with pleasure. He smiled and said,

“Sure, what the hell, go ahead,”

\--and Arthur, with a groan, unzipped his fly and pumped himself until he was coming, embarrassingly soon, all over Merlin’s chest.

It took him a while to come back to his senses, just in time to hear Merlin say,

“I thought you were an artist?”

“You know, Merlin,” Arthur said, wonderingly, “I think I am.”


	3. FUCK OR DIE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
>  **Warnings:** Shameless abuse of Hans Christian Andersen’s _The Little Mermaid_

“Wait. You need me to shag you? Or else you will die?”

Merlin nodded. He was, for what must have been the first time ever, avoiding Arthur’s eyes. And blushing.

“That’s…” Arthur racked his brain for something to say, and came up with, “odd.”

That earned him a hot-eyed glare that said, loud and clear, _You don’t say_. Merlin had a whole set of sarcastic expressions to meet with Arthur’s stupider comments.

Arthur cleared his throat.

He couldn’t be blamed. Ever since he met Merlin, his entire life – his quiet, sensible life that he did not miss one bit, not that he would ever admit it out loud – took a ninety degree turn off the path of sanity and was now headed, full-speed, into the realm of the odd and the unexpected and the downright bizarre.

And Merlin was right in the middle of it, chewing on his lower lip and messing up his hair. He finally met Arthur’s gaze and shrugged, offering a shy, tiny smile that wasn’t like him at all.

He grabbed the tablet and stylus that Arthur presented him with when he got tired of Merlin’s other attempts at communication, which mostly involved wild gestures and exasperated glares when Arthur didn’t understand (on account of being too busy ducking because Merlin’s gesturing was very… expansive), and began to write.

***

Merlin did not like kissing. That was something Arthur already knew.

What Merlin _did_ like was to run, and dance, and annoy Arthur. He made Arthur take him places. He made him sit through theatre plays, and various festivities and celebrations. He took to playing harp like a proverbial fish to water – heh – but _would not stop_ , and Arthur was the only one who seemed to mind.

The kissing was because Merlin had sold his tongue to the Sea-witch; the rest of it, because he got a brand new pair of legs in return.

Well. Legs _and_ other body parts. The Sea-witch, Arthur thought appreciatively, had really outdone herself.

That wasn’t the first time they ended up in Arthur’s bed, because for all his irritating qualities, Merlin was bloody gorgeous and Arthur wasn’t blind. But for the first time, they were both completely naked. And also for the first time, Merlin seemed content to lie back and let Arthur take the lead.

Which was all nice and well, except Arthur had no idea what to do.

He kissed his way down Merlin’s body – simple – and nuzzled his thigh. Merlin had pale, slightly sunburnt skin that was way warmer to the touch than skin had any right to be. It was easy to get lost in the sensation, especially because Merlin shivered and trembled and sighed when Arthur did something right.

Arthur ran his mouth over Merlin’s cock and delighted when he felt it jump and harden. It was silky and smelt of _Merlin_ in a way he was still trying to wrap his head around. For now, he kissed it and licked, experimentally, and took it fully in his mouth to which Merlin gave a loud, startled moan. His hands tangled in Arthur’s hair, and he seemed unsure whether he wanted to push him further down, or hold him in place and arch his body up.

Arthur kept Merlin’s cock in his mouth, enjoying the sensation, and trailed his hand downwards, rubbing Merlin’s balls – another yelp; he had never heard Merlin be so vocal – and down between his legs, searching for the spot where he could press into his body.

He had brought oil for that purpose and used it now to slick his fingers. Merlin’s cock popped out of his mouth and he smiled, seeing Merlin sprawled boneless and flushing and gorgeous, his eyes stuck on Arthur’s face as if he had, personally, hung the moon.

Merlin winced when Arthur’s finger breached him but it was a passing sensation. Arthur worked his way in, watching Merlin get lost in pleasure, his mouth slightly open and his eyes screwed shut. He wriggled down on Arthur’s fingers and whined when Arthur removed them, to make way for his cock.

After that it was a mess of heat and pressure and overpowering sense of _rightness_. He held them both through their orgasm and later, when Merlin smiled at him fondly and wrapped himself around Arthur’s body like he belonged there.

And, well. Arthur never gave much thought to his immortal soul, but if he really had enough of it to share with people –with _Merlin_ \- he was only happy to help.


	4. SLEEP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Uther/Merlin, implied Merlin/Arthur  
>  **Warnings:** Non-con, underage (Merlin is 17)

_"Merlin's drunk," Arthur had said, sheepish. "Could you drive him back?"_

Uther could. Merlin - the smart-mouthed, quick-witted Merlin, who always followed Arthur around with a dedication worthy of a better cause - was now quiet and soft and pliant. He let Arthur maneuver him into the passenger seat, giggling softly into his shoulder but otherwise saying nothing.

Uther watched the proceedings, waiting patiently for Arthur to fasten Merlin's seatbelt. Arthur leaned over his friend to whisper something, too quiet for Uther to catch. They were very close, and for a moment he wondered...

Arthur straightened.

"That's the best I can do," he said. "Merlin, behave."

"Mhmm," Merlin said, his eyes already closed.

He was fast asleep by the time they made it out of the city centre. The road was empty and the light was sparse, periodically casting Merlin's features in a sharp, yellow glow, only to fade again.  
It struck Uther just how attractive Merlin was while he slept like that, instead of scowling in Arthur's general direction. He had sharp cheekbones, long and dark eyelashes and the shape and colour of his mouth would lead a straight man to doubt his resolve.

He looked peaceful, relaxed. Inviting—

Uther hit the breaks, narrowly avoiding crashing into the car before them that stopped at the red lights.

He was stressed out and overworked. He had been alone for too long. He will not, _would not_ take out his frustrations on a sleeping schoolboy.

Merlin chose that moment to stir, setting himself more comfortably in the luxurious leather seat. He ran his tongue over his lower lip - his small, pink tongue - and sighed. Whatever it was he was dreaming about must have been pleasant, because his lips stretched into a faint, private smile.

The lights changed. Uther drove on.

They left the city behind and ended up following a narrow country road, dark and silent and deserted. Uther tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept his gaze straight ahead but it was a lost cause. He was already hard.

He didn't know what, exactly, was going on between his son and Merlin. Some days he was sure they were sleeping together; others, their relationship seemed wholesome and platonic.

He wondered if Merlin even liked men. If he liked Arthur.

The cottage came into view and Uther parked the car in front of it. All the windows were dark - either Merlin's mother wasn't home, or she was already asleep.

He should wake Merlin up. He _should_. But he didn't move, watching Merlin's face in semi-darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing.

What made him reach out, Uther didn't know. His intention was to shake Merlin awake. But he was shocked to discover how soft Merlin's skin was, how warm to the touch; soon he was running his fingers over Merlin's face, tracing his cheekbones and drinking in the sight of his lush lips.

Before he could stop himself, he was leaning in. He was close enough to smell the alcohol on Merlin's breath. The leather seat creaked when he moved, and he was afraid the sound would startle Merlin awake.

He needn't have worried. Merlin was still unconscious, his face small and delicate in Uther's hands.

Oh, what he would give to have Merlin properly, in his own bed; how much he could teach him; how lovely Merlin would look beneath him, or on his knees, Uther's cock fucking into his pretty mouth, the boy whimpering and begging for more; how wonderful it would be to see him sleep tangled in white sheets, to spread his legs and push into him, make it the first thing he feels when he wakes, hard cock between his legs and hot come spilling on his thighs...

He was jerking off like a teenager, one hand cupping Merlin's cheek, mouth ghosting over his lips, planting soft kisses there. His breathing was shallow and laboured, his wrist cramping, unused to the angle or the urgency.

When he built up to his climax he was kissing Merlin full on the mouth, the boy unresponsive but wonderfully soft. Uther was sprawled basically on top of him, his cock aching. He came harder than he did in ages, loosing himself in pleasure.

He heard Merlin whisper something when he was drawing back; he looked down, on his own filthy hand, his cock softening in its grip; and was, for a second, horror-struck.

He cleaned himself up and woke Merlin. Merlin was groggy, his steps hesitant, but Uther didn't offer to help.

He drove away, pretending it was all a dream, a stupid fantasy. Pretending it wasn't Arthur's name he heard Merlin whisper; and that it wasn't jealousy he felt.


	5. LIGHT AND DARK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Option:** Dark  
>  **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred  
>  **Warning(s):** Consensual hate sex

The Druids taught him about balance, and he listened. They spoke of things in pairs – light and dark, fire and ice, hatred and love – and he believed them. He thought he understood.

Then they said there was too much darkness in him. When he grew violent – and Mordred remembers it very well, the anger rising inside him like a flood, washing away everything in its path – they said he couldn’t stay anymore, that he was dangerous.

Oh, he understood that, too. He doesn’t resent them for abandoning him. He’s used to betrayal.

That’s why he’s not surprised when he sees Emrys in his chambers, standing half-hidden, obscured by shadows, only the dull yellow gleam of his eyes betraying his presence—

No, Mordred thinks. It’s Emrys. I would know him anywhere.

He closes the door carefully behind him and strips of his armour, feeling the heavy weight of Emrys’s gaze.

“Have you come to kill me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Emrys says.

“May I ask why?”

It’s pure courtesy, because he doesn’t have to. Still, the heavy, oppressive silence unnerves him, and no answer is forthcoming. He takes a few steps forward.

“You want me dead. You can’t keep dodging it forever.”

He’s standing in Emrys’s space and it’s—thrilling. It’s not at all like being next to Morgana, whose power is like a dark pool of hatred and malice where he remembered a cool, bright spring; no, Emrys is glowing, like the sun itself. He wonders how is it possible that no-one ever noticed.

“I don’t want you dead,” Emrys says. “But I can’t let you—“

“Kill Arthur?”

He had expected violence but Emrys still catches him off-guard. His hands slam into Mordred’s chest and push him towards the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of him. His face is inches from Mordred’s own, eyes wild and blazing, betraying the burning flame of magic that dances right under his skin.

“I should have done it years ago,” he seethes.

“But you didn’t,” Mordred says. He struggles to move under the press of Emrys’s body and magic alike, but he—

Emrys is stronger. More powerful. His magic has an outlet, a purpose; Emrys has someone to protect.

“I don’t want to kill him,” he says, voice turning into a hoarse whisper. “I saw it in a dream, over and over, but I don’t want it to happen. I don’t—“

Emrys releases him, and he feels—bereft. Without the painfully tight grip Mordred has nothing to focus on, except the cold dark look in Emrys’s eyes.

It’s his own hand this time, reaching out to fist itself in the coarse fabric of Emrys’s shirt. He remembers when, all those years ago, he thought that man meant safety.

“Do you believe me?”

“No.”

The answer is short, and who would think the King’s charming manservant could be cruel?

Still the urge to seek warmth wins. Mordred moves closer, until he can bask in the glow of Emrys’s magic and breathe in the scent of his skin.

“I wish things had been different,” he says, wistful.

“You yourself said you will never forgive me.”

The ghost of a smile creeps onto his face.

“I didn’t,” he says, because it’s true; but because nothing in Mordred’s life has ever been straightforward, and he can apparently think only in dichotomies, he kisses Emrys.

Which is not as surprising as the fact that Emrys kisses him back.

His lips are insistent and his hands even more so. Mordred manages to wrestle him down onto his bed but is quickly toppled over, Emrys once again holding him down, except this time it feels wonderful.

“I can’t figure you out,” Emrys murmurs into his skin. He undresses himself swiftly, his naked body solid and muscled.

He has long, clever fingers. Mordred hisses sharply when they draw out his cock, their movements sure and steady, bringing him to full hardness.

It’s not his first time. He shouldn’t be—

He’s overwhelmed by the sight of Emrys leaning back, preparing himself with some oil that he procured form who knows where, his face flushed deep red and his cock sticking out. Mordred has little choice but to follow his lead, help Emrys position himself over Mordred’s hips and then watch him sink down.

His senses are assaulted—the heat and pressure around his cock; the sight of Emrys’s head thrown back and his body a long, straight line, hips moving sinuously; his soft, tiny gasps and the slap of skin, the creaking of bed; and the scent of magic crackling in the air, like the air after a storm.

_They can’t see him like that_ , Mordred thinks wildly, climaxing. _They don’t know this side of him. The dark, ugly parts – they are all mine._


	6. MAGIC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
>  **Warning(s):** Reference to government-approved violence

They had discharged him with little more than a pat on the back and a prescription for diazepam. The first three days he drifted between restless sleep and bone-tired consciousness. He couldn't decide which was more exhausting.

***

On the fourth day he forced himself to get up. His sheets were damp with sweat and a bit gross; he tore them off and shoved it all into the washing machine, but had no energy to do the laundry, or pick up fresh ones.

The rest of the day he spent sitting on the bare mattress in total darkness, rubbing his wrists until the skin was raw and red and wondering where, exactly, had his life gone wrong.

***

The fifth day, there was someone at the door.

Loud, shrill tones of the doorbell reverberated inside his skull. That, if nothing else, was a good motivation to get up and answer.

“Merlin! Merlin? _Mer_ lin!”

Arthur’s voice – _Arthur_. What was _he_ doing here?

His voice was muffled and the doors shook when he hit it.

“Go away,” Merlin mumbled.

“Merlin! Are you there?” Arthur stopped beating down on the door as if they have personally offended him.

“No.”

“Then where are you?”

“Dead,” Merlin said, humourlessly.

There was a beat of silence and then on the other side of the door Arthur was hitting them again.

“That wasn’t funny,” he said.

“Never meant it to be,” Merlin said; but he did let him in.

Three weeks and four days. That was how long they hadn’t seen each other (not that he kept a careful track, of course). Now, the moment Arthur saw Merlin, his expression fell from anger to shock. Merlin wondered what kind of image he presented – dirty, unshaven, exhausted, creeping out of the dark and empty flat like a heroin addict.

And Arthur was the picture of prim perfection. Like he always was.

“Um, hi,” Merlin said.

“Hi.”

He stood, awkwardly, while Arthur turned on the lights and opened the windows to let in some fresh air.

“You weren’t picking up,” he said.

“They confiscated my phone,” Merlin said. It occurred to him, now, that perhaps he should be mad about it.

Arthur stared.

***

“You never contacted me,” Arthur said the next day. Merlin had bathed until his skin wrinkled and made a valiant attempt at shaving and making his flat somewhat more presentable. He still fought embarrassment at having being caught like this, and by _Arthur_ , of all people.

“I thought you were mad,” he said, curling his hands around the mug of hot tea. Light glinted on the narrow silver bracelets trapping his wrists. “You know. About the magic thing.”

“I was. I am,” Arthur said

***

Seventh day was indecently hot and sunny, and so Arthur dragged Merlin outside. The light and noise nearly drove him up the wall – there was suddenly too much going on and, in the most horrible way possible, not _enough_ going on.

His magic was—gone. There was nothing. He looked at trees and people and buildings and felt _nothing_.

The only thing he did feel was Arthur’s hand seizing his, and the warmth seeping into his skin.

***

“You know,” Merlin said. “You are really kind of wonderful.”

He looked away, embarrassed. Arthur took him out to the park – rainy day, so it was moderately deserted – and bought them both coffee and sandwiches for lunch. There wasn’t much they could talk about and Merlin’s statement caught them both unawares.

Arthur cleared his throat and did not meet Merlin’s gaze.

“Thanks.”

***

Arthur’s hands looked big around Merlin’s wrists and his palms covered the magic-cancelling bracelets. His lips fitted against Merlin’s like they were made for that very purpose.

Merlin had fantasised about this moment more times than he cared to admit; and now Arthur held him in his arms, trailing kisses over the nape of Merlin’s neck, over his naked shoulders, his chest brushing Merlin’s back with every hitching breath he took. His hands caressed Merlin’s chest and slid down to rest on his hips, digging his nails into Merlin’s skin with a desperation Merlin did not expect.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat when Arthur’s hands drifted lower. He closed his eyes, tried to keep himself from whimpering; Arthur pulled him fully into his lap, his own erection grinding against Merlin’s arse, his hand speeding up on Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s head rolled, settling onto Arthur’s shoulder, and he pressed a messy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Arthur’s jaw.

He came with a soft gasp, spilling onto Arthur’s hand. His toes were curled with the raw, unexpected pleasure of it, the tension in his muscles fading for the first time in days.

***

Next time they were in bed together, Merlin still felt the lingering, bitter taste of Arthur’s come.

“You know,” Arthur confessed. “I never realised how much I needed you until you started falling apart on me.”

Merlin could afford to smile now. Laugh, even. He was still achingly empty inside, but he was getting used to the feeling.

“Oh, so this is just you being selfish,” he said, teasingly.

“Yeah, essentially,” Arthur smiled.

His magic was gone. But them—maybe they would be okay.


End file.
